


Mama's Little Helper

by memoryweaver



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Adorable Armin Arlert, Child Armin Arlert, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 18:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7981507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memoryweaver/pseuds/memoryweaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For young Armin Arlert the proper rolling of dough and assisting Mama in the kitchen is a very important job!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mama's Little Helper

**Author's Note:**

> I received a request to write a fic detailing a little glimpse into Armin's childhood days and the relationship he shared with his mother. 
> 
> The title is poor, I'm sorry. Hope you enjoy!

Small hands still chubby with the remnants of baby-like plumpness followed the lines of text within a much-read volume. There were many words that Armin struggled to understand, though he was confident that he was learning. Usually his grandfather would sit him upon his knee and they would work through the difficult words together with a focus being placed upon each syllable until Armin could repeat it, as well as recognise the word’s construction upon the page. For many children such a task would become arduous in no time at all and the adult would be branded as boring, cruel or pushy. It was near impossible for Armin to view his grandfather in such a light as reading by candlelight, even when the older man had endured a long day of work, was one of their favourite activities. 

“Well, it is no surprise to find you in here!” The sound of the young woman’s voice, bright and cheerful, always seemed to make Armin jump. His mama was never sharp with him and her presence certainly did not frighten him. Rather, Armin was so engrossed in the world of the dog-eared tome that anything that pulled him from it rendered him briefly startled. “Pouring over those books, just like Grandpa and Papa.” 

The young woman crouched and patted the head of straight, blonde hair, causing Armin’s expression to break into a smile. Dimples, those situated on the right side of his face being more prominent than those on the left, provided gentle marring upon the slightly ruddy cheeks and he reached as he always did to return the favour, though his mother was always a second too quick for him as she ducked from the offending hand. 

“I want to know everything. Everything the books tell me, I want to know it all, Mama!” He turned his attention briefly back to the book and with great care placed the piece of cloth utilised as a marker between the pages. His mother was fascinated by his gentleness and how unlike other children he was when it came to treating items, especially sentimental ones, with care. Perhaps it was because Armin had an understanding beyond most other children, that he was mature beyond his years. She resisted the urge to smirk. Thinking that their own child was extraordinary and superior to other youngsters was a belief she was sure that all parents harboured. 

Armin came to his feet and placed the book upon the side table, where he ensured that it would be out of the reach of anyone who might accidently brush past it and send the volume plummeting to the floor. “You are very gentle with the books, Armin.” His mother observed as he came to stand before her. “They won’t shatter if they fall.” 

It appeared her words had struck a chord of concern within her boy as his brows knotted together and he briefly, yet ever so adamantly shook his head. “I need to keep them safe, Mama,” he stated as he glanced quickly back at the book. Already there was some damage though it was not the worse that had been caused through his foolhardiness. “I don’t want for the writing to disappear again.” 

Mrs Arlert exhaled as she glanced sympathetically down at her son. It had been a number of weeks since he had stumbled through the door with a sodden book, dirtied by the water from puddles. Armin continued to sob long after she had wiped the cuts that had been inflicted upon his knees and palms, while she had barely any power to cease her son’s tears. She had managed to ease him into a bath, where she discovered bruises upon his upper arms, formed unmistakably in the shape of fingers pressed with great forced into the soft skin. Her heart had pounded with rage and she wished to drag the culprits into a public square and see them punished for all to see for the pain they inflicted upon her little boy. She had helped Armin into his nightclothes in the mid-afternoon and settled him against her in a chair as she flicked through a book of children’s tales. 

When his father and grandfather had arrived home from work the weeping had commenced again. It was quite clear that Armin’s papa was close to tears himself, torn between rage and sorrow at the fact that a group of children had ganged up on his son. Her father-in-law’s reaction was the most heated and he had grasped his grandson’s shoulders, lightly yet within enough firmness that it was impossible for Armin to wriggle free. The old man had spoken softly but with a severe and serious tone. Questions were asked and Armin answered, timidly at first but eventually with enough courage when he was assured that he was in no trouble himself. The book was damaged, the writing impossible to decipher on a number of pages, and Armin’s physical wounds would heal in time, but the adults feared the loss of his spirit and were concerned that he might have remained a shrunken shadow of his already shy self for a significant time to come. They feared he would blame himself for being unable to defend himself against larger, stronger children.

With a sigh, Mrs Arlert reached to pat her son’s head once more. “Do you remember what I told you? What Papa told you? What Grandpa told you?”

Armin pursed his lips, his hands fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket as he gave a small nod of his head. “That it was not my fault.” 

“That’s right. It was not your fault at all. You are too sweet for your own good, Armin.” She leaned to press a gentle kiss against her son’s cheek and laughed softly. Anything to change the subject from his insecurities. He could not dwell on what happened, not could be blame himself. “Books are to be read indoors and we can discuss all that is in them together. The four of us. There is little reason to take them outside. Bullies and puddles are far too stupid to understand them.” Mrs Arlert placed her hands upon her hips and gave a satisfied hum. “Now, I think that I need a special helper this afternoon. I need someone who is good at rolling out dough. Do you know of anyone who can help me?”

From her tone, Armin could tell that his mother was playing, for she knew just how much he enjoyed rolling out dough. The first few times he had been entrusted with the task there had been a sticky mess upon the rolling pin and the doughy residue had taken an age to scrub properly from his fingers. It did not taste too pleasant either when he had attempted to nibble it off. He put his hands in the air and shrugged, while looking from side to side, as if searching for that talented dough-roller. “I don’t think there’s anyone here Mama.” 

“Oh! That’s no good at all,” Mrs Arlert’s fair brows rose as she gazed upon her son, as if gauging his rolling abilities. “I suppose you will have to do Armin.” 

The boy giggled and concluded their little game of pretend. He quickly removed his jacket and deposited it over the back of a chair, before he hurried into the kitchen. The usually step stool was in place, ready for Armin to take his position. He rolled up his sleeves and smiled in anticipation as his mother allowed the dough to hit the table with a satisfying ‘thump’. Mrs Arlert watched her son prepare the rolling pin, utilising a little sprinkle of flour to dust upon the wooden surface to prevent the dough from sticking. 

“You are better than Papa at this,” she noted with a chuckle. Only once at her husband helped her with this task and they had both agreed that it was best for him to refrain from doing so again. “Papa forgot the flour and there was such a mess everywhere. Somehow he managed to get it all over the floor, underneath his shoes, even beneath the table. You are my chief dough-roller, Armin!” 

“Yes Mama!” He could hardly imagine his Papa being so clumsy since even he, Armin, could manage to do such an important job. When he considered the matter further he did recall the time when Papa had swooped Mama into his arms, grasping her from around the waist which caused a drink to get knocked over. He had stopped and placed her back on her feet when he noticed that Armin was watching. Perhaps he had been silly when they were making bread too. Armin applied a good amount of pressure onto the rolling pin as he began to smooth out the substance. 

Another laugh from his mother caused him to look up curiously. “You always stick your tongue out when you’re concentrating. It’s very sweet.” 

A short laugh left Armin’s lips as he bashfully closed his mouth. He could not allow himself to become too distracted from his work. After another couple of movements forward, along with a number of soft grunts due to the effort of it, Armin shot a beaming smile at his Mama. “You stick your tongue out too!” 

“Do I? I don’t think I’ve noticed before.” That was hardly the truth. When she and Armin’s father had first started courting he had informed her that it was quite obvious she was in a blitz of concentration because of ‘that tongue’. If she recalled correctly her reaction was more or less the same as her son’s, though her future husband had only laughed, informing her that it was ‘quite adorable’. She moved forward to examine Armin’s work, prepared to take over if he struggled to lift the flattened dough from the table top. With often clumsy little fingers Armin managed to flip the dough over and began to smooth the upwards side with the rolling pin. His mother smiled with pride, for oftentimes he struggled with the flipping task. “Well done! You’re an expert.” 

“Thank you Mama.” The smile was as wide as the previous ones and he continued his work, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth once more. “I really enjoy helping you.” 

The information from the sweet voice had Mrs Arlert feeling as soft as she did when he was first placed in her arms. She reached across and patted his hair, stroking the smooth blonde locks before her hand rested upon his upper back. “I enjoy having you help me. I wouldn’t be able to manage without my strong boy. You will make a young lady very happy someday with your dough-rolling expertise. She will be very impressed.” 

“I make you happy and you’re a young lady,” Armin stated, clearly not catching the true intent behind his mother’s words. 

She laughed, shook her head and gave him a light rub from shoulder to shoulder. “I meant a wife. When you’re grown and you’ve got a lady of your own. When you’re married, but that won’t be for some time yet.” 

Armin nodded quickly, his expression becoming suddenly serious as if to insinuate that he understood the matter completely. “Oh yes, not for lots of years. Having a wife is a big responsibility and I have to make sure she is a very special lady. Mama, you have to like her.” He would never marry anyone his mother did not like. From what he understood, Mama was an excellent judge of not only character, but the right thing to do in almost every situation. If she saw fault in the girl that Armin wished to settle down with, then Armin would simply have to find another. 

“I am sure you will find a lovely girl that I will adore as my daughter-in-law. You have to make me a little promise though,” Mrs Arlert said as she crouched down to an eye-level with her son. “You must not forget your old mother.” 

Armin chuckled and turned from the table. With the excitement only a darling child could muster he threw his arms around her neck, patting powder against her dress though it was hardly a cause for concern. “I won’t ever forget you Mama!”

___________

The young man stood upon the rooftop, screaming in peril as he witnessed the last member of his squad be devoured by a titan. He was alone, utterly forsaken and left to wait for his own end. The bearded one approached, smiling, as if to suggest that he would enjoy the warmth of human flesh against his tongue and the crunch of bone and the burst of organs against his teeth. Armin trembled and was left to stare into the dark abyss of the titan’s mouth as it lifted him from the tiles. He swallowed a lump in his throat and knew his death was fast approaching. He thought to his friends, particularly Eren and Mikasa, and the rest of his comrades. To his grandfather and the smile the often grumpy old man would have for him. His father too, a gentle man who had likely suffered a similar fate. And then his mother… 

He blinked. The foul odour of the titan’s breath burned at his throat and everything suddenly became painted in shadow as the curve of the titan’s nose obstructed most of the sunlight. 

His promise. A broken promise to his mother, his dear Mama. She had not been forgotten intentionally, more so out of the busy nature of his days over the past five years. Fragments of her sweet laugh, her gentle smile, the shine of her hair could be recalled. The sooner death came the sooner he could see her again. He could only hope that she would be as proud of his achievements as a soldier as she had been in that kitchen when he had been her very special helper.


End file.
